Page 76 of Beautiful Scar

“I’m fine, kitten.” But he lets me guide him back to his rooms and only pauses to bark orders back at his guards, telling them to pick up where he left off and bring in more men to help. I’m toopissed and worried to think hard about what that means or why he’s smashing one of my windows with a hammer.

All I can think about is my injured husband, the blood on his clothes, his pale, waxy skin from the night before, his shallow breathing. Panic threatens, but I shove it back.

I’m not going to fall apart again. Not right now when he clearly needs someone with sense in their damn head. I failed him last night—he had to comfortmein the end—but I won’t do that again.

I’m going to be stronger for him.

Because obviously someone has to be.

“Sit down, you idiot,” I murmur softly once he’s back in his own living area. He sinks onto the couch with a sigh and lets me put some pillows behind his back. “Now I’m calling Vito to have him bring up coffee, something to eat, and to bring the doctor for a checkup, and if you complain or move from this couch, I swear I’ll put laxatives in your food for the next month. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, baby, I understand.” He seems much too happy right now. It’s almost like he doesn’t know how close he is to death. Because if he keeps going this way, I’m going to jump on his back like a monkey and strangle him.

Better to take him down myself than let him kill himself through his own stupid neglect.

By the time Vito shows up, my nausea’s going crazy again. I excuse myself, thinking I just need a little water splashed on my face, but end up puking for twenty minutes. As suddenly as it hit,though, the sickness disappears, and I find Tigran waiting for me in the hall outside my bathroom.

“I was about to kick that door down,” he says, concern all over his face.

“What did I say about leaving that couch?”

He ignores me, looming closer. “When did it start?”

“I don’t know. Does it even matter? I’m just dealing with a little virus, while you—” I jab a finger into his chest. “You’re dealing with a gunshot wound and a whole lot of stitches. Get back on that couch.”

He grumbles, not happy, but doesn’t fight as I lead him back into his suite. Coffee, pastries, fruit, and yogurt are waiting for us there, and I help myself to some of his breakfast while he mumbles to himself about hating twins and all the Irish in the world.

“Now, now, don’t blame an entire country of people for the mistakes of a few.” I pat his face lightly and sit with my legs in his lap. “Now, would you like to tell me why you decided to start ripping up my room?”

“It was for your safety.”

“Weird how that’s always your excuse.”

“Because that’s all I care about.”

“Right, sure, but what project was it this time? Installing motion sensors? Maybe infrared heat mapping devices so you can know whenever I’m remotely cold?”

“I kind of like that idea,” he says, lips pressed together thoughtfully. “I’d be able to see that beautiful naked body of yours getting hotter and hotter?—”

“I wasjoking,you maniac. Seriously, what was with the hammer?”

He goes quiet and pulls into himself. I’ve seen this happen before. Tigran’s clearly not used to answering questions from other people, and if he doesn’t want to talk about it, then he’s going to do his best to say nothing.

Maybe I would’ve let him get away with that when we first met. Back then, I would’ve pulled into myself, whimpered like a lost little deer, and allowed him to roll all over me.

Not anymore. I’m Tigran’s wife. There’s no way he’s going to clam up just because the big dickweed doesn’t feel like explaining.

I lean in close and squeeze his cheeks between my hands. “Talk to me or I’m going to tell Vito to start loading up on Ex-Lax.”

He flinches slightly and gently moves my hands from his face. “There were pictures of you in Ciaran’s safe house, which means he’s been watching from some nearby vantage. I have men out sweeping everything, including some very illegal breaking and entering, but I need to be sure you’re safe. Which is why we’re going to rip out the windows and replace them with bulletproof glass.”

I flop back with a groan. This fucking guy isinsane. He sees some pictures and thinks the only solution is to turn his house into a freaking fortress.

“And you had to start that today? The morning after you got shot?”

“I had to start the moment I woke up.Pisik, protecting you?—”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s everything, I get it. You’re a broken record.” I squint at him, trying to keep myself from getting too annoyed. “I appreciate what you’re doing, I really do, but you can’t get yourself hurt trying to protect me, okay? We’re done with that. We’re in this together, remember?”

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